Waiting For Something
by Sakura's Pointe Shoes
Summary: Spoilers for series 5, that's all I'm saying.


**Title:** Waiting For Something

**Genre:** Romance

**Summary:** This is set after 503, but before 504...I don't know if the timeline provides enough time for my fic, but it happens before Ruth leaves the show.

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, no money is being made, but I AM pissed at NW.

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A cup of coffee, a hot bath and some kind of sedative. Those three things and probably a massive hangover in the morning were what Ruth wanted more than anything in the world. She unlocked the door of her flat, and stepped inside the darkness. She felt for the wall, where the light switch always was, and nearly tripped over her cat in the process.

"Damn it, Ben. I'll feed you in _two_ seconds-" She stopped when she noticed her kitchen light was on. It most definitely wasn't on when she left in the morning. She almost wanted to barge in and tell whoever the hell it was in there to get out.

_'Jesus Christ, who in London hasn't broken into my house?'_

She slowly moved over to the table against the wall and opened the drawer noiselessly. Her newly acquired gun was sitting right there in the drawer. Ben stared up at her with wide, dilated green eyes and blinked. He flicked his fluffy black tail and trotted down the hall and disappeared. She rolled her eyes. _'I knew I should have gotten a dog...'_

Ruth gripped the gun with white knuckles and held it in the way she was recently taught. She grimaced as she realized that it was fortunate she went through with weapons training and basic self-defense class.

* * *

She expected a masked man to be standing there, brandishing a machine gun in her face. 

She expected Oliver Mace to be in her kitchen, making snarky comments about how she decorated the room with his trademark sneer.

Hell, she even expected to see bloody Juliet to be in there, ready to run her down with her wheelchair.

She did NOT however, expect to see Harry setting her table with plates and utensils, with a silly pink apron tied around his body. He looked up at her when she came in, and she didn't know whether to proceed with the gun and shoot him or smother him in kisses. He moved from the table to check on whatever he had cooking in a pot on the stove.

Ruth cursed her stomach for grumbling at the thought of food. Especially since she had stuck to frozen stuff for the past week.

"It's almost ready, have a seat." He sounded so at home as he stirred the pasta, steam rising from the pot. Ruth watched as he turned the fire off and paused. "Do you have a strainer?" She nodded and pointed to the drawers beneath the counter. "Third one down." Harry opened it and found the strainer as if it wasn't a big deal that he was here, in her house cooking dinner for them when two days ago, she had turned him down for a second date.

Sadness fused with contempt bent her mouth in a frown. She told him that they couldn't do this. He couldn't afford to have people undermining his authority, and she didn't like being talked about.

At the moment, Harry didn't seem to care. He separated the water from the penne pasta and put it into a bowl. He must have rummaged through every nook and cranny of her kitchen because he seemed to know his way around. She took off her coat and draped it on the back of the chair. She didn't sit.

Harry added some sauce to the pasta and began to stir with a wooden spoon, she noticed there was a plate of breaded chicken sitting on the counter. She allowed herself a small smile. He made this all from scratch. There was flour all over the counter, all of her measuring cups were soiled and there were leftovers of ingredients all over the place. She waited for him to finish and put everything on the table before she spoke.

"I could have shot you."

She kicked herself mentally as soon as she realized that it wouldn't have been the first time for him to be shot by a colleague. He didn't seem to mind, he just shrugged and stared at her with those amber eyes. They looked alot lighter for some reason, and there was a look of determination in them.

"I know. But you didn't, and now we can have dinner. And put that away," He eyed the gun in her right hand, "Before you end up actually firing at something."

She drew in a quick breath and opened her mouth to defend herself.

"Contrary to popular belief, I'm capable of pulling the trigger on purpose. And I didn't want dinner, remember?" Her words rang in her ears and she wondered how she could be so cold to him.

Fortunately, they didn't seem to faze him.

"Too bad. You're here and I cooked. We're having dinner, and that's that." His stern, almost domineering tone clashed so violently with his frilly pink apron that she wasn't surprised when she started to giggle. Those giggles turned into laughter, raucous and free, and soon he was laughing too. Ruth suddenly couldn't fathom why she was so ready to chuck what she had with this man out the window.

"I'll be right back." She left the kitchen and set the gun back in its proper place, relieved that she didn't need to use it. She hurried up the stairs and into the bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes. She traded in her black trousers and white oxford blouse for loose fitting black pants and a cozy lavender sweater. Her hair had been up all day so when she pulled it free of the clip she'd been wearing, it fell in waves despite its shorter length.

Ruth padded down the stairs barefoot, feeling considerably better than when she first arrived at home.

He was already putting food on her plate, a generous helping of pasta with chicken and cheese over everything, with a small bowl of salad on the side. It took all of her self-control to keep from drooling at the sight of the freshly prepared food.

"I didn't know you cooked, Harry." He smiled, eyes unguarded.

"You haven't tasted it yet."

Ruth picked up the fork and speared a piece of chicken. She closed her eyes in appreciation as the tasty flavor of the meat washed over her taste buds.

"God, this is good. Thank you..." She mumbled through a full mouth. Harry chuckled and sat in front of her, glad that his efforts hadn't been for nothing.

"I guess we'll have to do this more often then." The gentleness and patience in his voice sent a tremor through her heart, and she knew that after tonight, there would be no way in this world that she would be able to turn him away.

* * *

The evening went by rather quickly, which was disappointing because Ruth was really enjoying herself and by the looks of it, so was Harry. By the end of dinner they'd finished a third of the bottle of wine he'd brought, and they were conversing openly. They finished the actual meal long ago, but she didn't want the night to end. 

She thought of the restaurant they went to before, and how it paled in comparison to what Harry had done for her.

"Thank you Harry, for everything. I...really liked this."

Ruth panicked. She made it sound extremely final, like she expected him to get up and make some excuse about having to get up early the next morning.

He nodded and sipped some wine from his glass.

She sighed when he just leaned back in his chair, he didn't look like he was going anywhere.

"We need to talk." And he said the words that signaled the beginning of a conversation she had been fearing for a long time. This was what it all came down to, what she said now had to be either the truth, or one damn good excuse as to why she still didn't want to embark on a relationship with him.

"Okay. What about?"

He met her gaze, for some reason she felt a strong impulse to hold his hand.

_'Must be the wine.'_

"Ruth." She shivered at his voice as it produced her name. His tone was laced with history, passion and urgency. She smiled and fiddled with the ring on her index finger.

"Two days ago, we had dinner together at an expensive, upscale restaurant. It was wonderful. I was happy, and I thought that maybe, just _maybe_, this-" She motioned between the two of them, "could work."

"Then Malcom mentioned that he knew about us. I guess I was...no, I know I was scared, terrified even. A thousand possiblities sprang up, blackmail mainly, and the undermining of your authority as a section-head. So I said no. I thought that a relationship with you wasn't worth those threats. Harry, I've been thinking, and obviously after tonight, I can admit defeat. I was wrong."

He looked like a little boy who was just informed that Christmas was coming early.

Ruth was smiling widely now and she plunged boldly ahead. "I want this. More than anything in the world."

His voice was its usual soothing grumble, full of humor and with a teasing edge to it.

"If I knew what my chicken parmigiano would get me, then I would have done this a long time ago."

TBC?

**A/N:** This was written because I am extremely miffed at Nicola Walker for leaving Spooks, and I felt that I needed to write something where she changes her mind, before tomorrow when the world ends. (is dramatic) Maybe I'll write a sequel, in defiance of the episodes after 504, lol.


End file.
